


living long enough to be forgiven

by threeplusfire



Series: Bad Things Come In Threes [12]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Fae manipulation, M/M, Multi, Urban Magic Yogs, criminal activity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 20:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3623235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeplusfire/pseuds/threeplusfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of midwinter, Ross tries to repair his friendship with Will and learns sometimes you aren't prepared for the consequences of your choices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	living long enough to be forgiven

**Author's Note:**

> This story was quite difficult to get down. Enormous thanks to my early readers Summer, Dex, Boa, Leon and Eirwyn. Your comments and encouragements and sometimes rearranging all my sentences helped make this happen.

On the edge of the roof, Ross crouched and waited. Will hadn’t answered his phone in the weeks since Ross had last seen him. So he was trying his luck with the roof, in hopes of seeing him. The attic was dark, and silent. The lights were on in the lower floors of the house, and Ross cherished a small hope that Will was down there with his uncles. Maybe sitting at the kitchen table, Xephos in his red robe with its embroidered little gold stars, puttering around the kitchen making tea. Ross wanted so badly to be in there as well, but he was too uneasy to go to the front door. He wanted to talk to Will first before he had to talk to Xephos.

Wind rattled through the trees. Ross felt the lines of the shingles with his bare hands. The snow didn’t melt on his fingers, just crunched between them where it was hardening into ice. His tail dangled over the edge, swinging back and forth. He was tempted to take off his boots and let his feet curl around the edge of the roof. Maybe pretending to be a statue would ease the noise inside his head, all the anxiety he felt. There was a certain comfort in old habits. Without thinking about it, Ross found himself assuming the familiar postures of his years on the church roof. He could clear his mind, blank out the noise of his disordered thoughts. Sometimes he just wanted to be still. It felt right. 

Ross touched the bottle stowed in his jacket, thinking about summer time in the back garden and the slant of late afternoon light. They’d sat in the grass, drinking cider that tasted of apples and blackberries. Ross hoped the memory of it would help ease things between them tonight. 

Behind him, the attic door creaked. Ross took a deep breath, licked his lips. But it was Xephos, not Will, standing there in the doorway.

Ross startled, almost launching himself off the edge of the roof. He swallowed, hastily trying to think of something to say. Talking with Xephos wasn’t something he’d planned to do tonight. Ross had hoped he could patch things up with Will, explain things. That they could put everything between them back to normal, and maybe he wouldn’t even have to speak to Xephos about any of this.

Xephos wasn’t expecting the suddenly mobile shadow just beyond the tiny widow’s walk. Defensively, he raised his hand. The sudden flare of light illuminated Ross, perched on his roof. The light flickered and died. Ross’ eyes glowed, and moonlight brightened the snow on the roof, leaving the shadows a deep bluish black.

“I know how it looks,” Ross began.

“How it looks?” Xephos snapped. “You’re skulking on my roof at night, while my nephew is staying in that greenhouse after getting involved in who knows what with you. That’s how it looks to me.”

Still staring at Ross, he shook a cigarette out of the packet in the pocket of his robe. “I don’t know what you thought you would get, coming here after you’ve done something like this.”  He’d smoked too much in the past few weeks already. His hands were shaking, from the cold, anger and the terrible sense that he wasn’t going to be able to pull Will back to safety now.

“I came to see if he was alright,” Ross said slowly.

“He’s not here,” Xephos said, voice tight with tension. Ross nodded, thrown off balance. He wondered how much Xephos knew, if Will had told him or if someone else had. The way he stared at Ross, eyes narrowed as he lit his cigarette with a tiny spark of magic, made Ross’ stomach lurch. Maybe he should have gone to the front door after all, he thought. This did not look good.

“You think I haven’t known about you up here since it started?” Xephos flicked his cigarette irritably. “That you were sneaking around up here with my nephew?”

Ross guiltily twitched his tail. Nothing he’d done under this roof had ever abused Xephos’ hospitality in letting him stay. But he’d repaid the kindness, the food, the cooking lessons with what they’d done at Midwinter.  

“You let me keep coming, then.” Ross tried to settle himself. Some hope burned in his chest. They were talking. That had to be something. He wanted things to be okay.

“I did. I’m wondering now if I should regret it.” Xephos watched him, his eyes glittering. His robe fluttered, and Xephos shivered. 

Ross wanted to shrink under that stare. He also wanted also to go to Xephos, shield him against the wind that whipped around them. The push and pull of his thoughts made it impossible for him to figure out what to do. The bottle in his jacket pressed against his ribs. Ross pulled it out and rose to his feet.

“What is that?” asked Xephos in a sharp tone.

“May I come inside?” asked Ross, setting the bottle carefully on the railing between them.

“Absolutely not,” Xephos refused. He snatched the bottle and threw it as hard as he could, into the darkness. The violence of it made him feel slightly better. Ross winced at the sound of breaking glass somewhere below.

This was nothing like what Ross had expected to happen. He could feel the house shut him out, the strength of the threshold palpable where he stood. The rebuff surprised him, a startling sting of rejection. 

“Xephos-” Ross raised his hands, trying to keep himself calm. He didn’t understand, didn’t know what to do with this situation.

“Are you going to explain what happened?” interrupted Xephos. “My nephew just shows up in bandages, with a sidhe on his heels and half the city in an uproar. This is my family, I deserve some explanation.”

Xephos had heard a half dozen versions of the story by now, about Will and the Garbage Court and the midwinter ball. Some of them were pure fabrication, but he suspected there was some truth to the patchy details. Enough to make him angry, enough to make him afraid. Enough to drive him to start smoking at night, in the dark of the back garden or on the roof. Xephos wondered if Ross would try to lie to him, to play games with the truth.

“I wouldn’t have taken him to hurt him,” Ross began.

“Will got hurt. Your good intentions count for shit.” Xephos snorted and took a long drag, exhaling upwards. He didn’t miss the way Ross furrowed his brow, or the nervous flick of his tail.

“What gave you any reason to take him in the first place?” demanded Xephos, pointing at Ross with his cigarette. He’d expected a much more slick explanation or story from one of the Garbage Court, not this. Mostly he was waiting for the lie he felt certain Ross would tell. He had that look. Like a kid who knew he’d screwed up, and was trying to figure out what story would get him off the hook.  

Xephos ground the cigarette out. He wondered what to do with it briefly, before he dropped it into the snow. A little blue flame incinerated the butt, leaving a shadow of ash behind. Xephos tucked his hands under his elbows. Probably should have an ashtray, but that would mean admitting he was smoking again. Not that it was really a secret. Honeydew never said anything about it, didn’t even raise an eyebrow when he came to bed smelling like smoke and snow. 

Ross stared down at the ash, tail still flicking back and forth. He’d never seen Xephos smoke before, and didn’t know what to make of it. He’d never been refused at the door either. Everything was going wrong tonight.

“Well?” Xephos asked. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Will asked me for a favor, and I took the debt.” The words were so soft, Xephos wanted to believe Ross hadn’t said them. 

“Son of a…” Xephos covered his face with one hand. “How could you do that? I thought he was your friend, Ross.”

“He was,” Ross said miserably.

“And what exactly did you do to your  _ friend ?” _ asked Xephos bitterly. He kept his eyes on Ross, his stare hard and unforgiving. 

“We crowned him King of Misrule-” Ross broke off, ashamed of the fury and horror in Xephos’ eyes. He lifted his hands, trying to explain.  “We didn’t- Trott told me we could do this and it would be safe enough- we knew the horned bastard would come…“

Xephos wanted to reach out and hold onto the railing, to sink down onto his knees. Instead he remained upright, stunned by the enormity of what happened. The Garbage Court had very nearly murdered Will, in the pursuit of their ongoing war with Kirin. He knew how the ritual was meant to go, the need for fresh sacrifice every year. Horrified with the idea that Ross drank Will’s blood, Xephos’ skin crawled.

“How could you?” Xephos breathed, sickened.

Moonlight silvered Xephos’ hair, making him look older. Ross watched the emotions flash over Xephos’ face. He looked terribly human and fragile, too exhausted to be standing outside like this. Ross wanted to take him inside, make tea, get him to sit down somewhere. Without thinking, Ross reached out to take his arm and Xephos flinched away.

Ross hunched his shoulders, feeling sick to his stomach. He’d imagined he would find Will. That maybe he could pretend things were still the same. That he would spend the night playing video games, and curl up beside Will on his bed that was really too small for the two of them. That on Saturday morning he’d knock on the front door, and come inside to find Honeydew making tea, and Xephos staring into the fridge muttering under his breath about breakfast. Ross could feel it slipping through his fingers, the fragile sense of happiness, and ease.

“We were only trying to protect our king,” Ross explained, the words feeling like stones in his throat. 

“By drinking Will’s blood like some kind of sacrificial lamb?” Xephos’ hands shook, from the cold and from the rage he felt. “I let you keep coming into this house, thinking you were something different, but you’re just as much fae as the rest of them.”  

“That’s not what… I didn’t.” Ross stopped. He didn’t know how to explain. Anxious to quell Xephos’ wrath, he stumbled over his words. Ross thought if he could only get Xephos to understand, his anger would lessen. “We had to be able to make the deal. It should protect Will as much as it does Sips. Nothing in this city will touch him, for fear of us and  _ him _ .”

“You forget,” Xephos laughed without any humor. “ _ He _ is the biggest danger to Will in this city, right after you. But I guess you’re the lesser of the evils I have to deal with now.”

“Evil?”  Ross curled his fingers tightly. It stung to hear Xephos call him that, but he couldn’t exactly say he didn’t deserve it. He stared at his hands. The memory of Will’s wrists in his grasp came back to him, and the taste of his blood. Ross squeezed his hands, trying to push the thought away. 

“We couldn’t let him kill Sips,” Ross pleaded. “You have to understand-”

“I don’t have to do anything for you,” snapped Xephos. Ross flinched at the way his voice rose, at the anger.

“They’re my  _ family _ ,” he said a little desperately. Ross hoped Xephos would understand the emphasis. He might not understand a king, but he would understand family.

“Family,” scoffed Xephos. “The Garbage Court is a gang of criminals, Ross, and you know that.”

“We are,” Ross admitted. “I am, then. You can’t know what it is like, how much I needed everything they gave me.” Years of silence, and doubt, while he wondered why he looked more like the devils in the art and none of the church’s light could touch him. The hollow ache where a purpose should be, no guidance or understanding of what he was meant to do. The loneliness of it.

“You care about Will,” Ross said in a rush. “You’d do anything to get him back home, you’d go up against the bastard in the greenhouse if you had to. I know you would. It’s the same. They’re everything to me. They gave me a home, a purpose-”

“You think you owe them something,” Xephos cut in.

“It’s not like that,” Ross tried to explain. “It’s not a debt.”

“What is it then?” Xephos gave up and dug the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket once more. Another one wouldn’t kill him tonight.

“Love,” Ross said fiercely. “You love your husband, your family. I can’t love them as much? Because we aren’t human? Because we’re criminals? You can’t believe it is any different.”

Xephos regarded him for a long moment. The mistake always came from thinking of them as anything like human beings, he thought. But they weren’t, no matter how much you pretended. It was a lesson he’d started too late with Will. He’d let himself fall for it too, when it came to Ross. Thinking of him as one of their stray, adopted children like Lalna and Will… The wind gusted around them and he tightened his belt, trying not to shiver. He turned away from Ross, shaking his head.

“I should never have trusted you,” he said, half to the darkness and half to Ross. Xephos flicked the ashes off the roof. They vanished into the snow and moonlight.

Ross felt his gut twist. He couldn’t bear the idea that Xephos was about to close the door on him, that he’d never be inside the house again. The life he pretended he had here would be over, gone like it never existed except for memories that ached. Before he could think the idea through, he hopped the railing. Xephos backed up, alarm written all over his face as Ross crowded into the narrow space beside him. He sank slowly to his knees.

“Ross, get up.” Xephos pulled at the shoulder of his jacket, but Ross stayed stubbornly down. Still, he thought. Be still.

“Get up,” snarled Xephos, his voice angrier the second time. He yanked hard on Ross’s jacket, trying to shift him off his knees. Ross stayed down, unwilling to move. He didn’t even look up as Xephos backed away, uneasy and silent. His back was against the railing, as far from Ross as he could get in the small space. The cigarette burned down in his hand, and Xephos took a long drag.

“Forgive me,” Ross begged. Head down, he braced himself, and wound his tail into the bars of the balcony railing. “I will take responsibility for this, but please. Please, Xephos.”

“Don’t,” Xephos said in a harsh voice. “I’m not… I am not one of your masters, Ross, and you should be more careful with what you say.” It made him want to shudder. He’d grown so genuinely fond of Ross, the way he listened so seriously as Xephos cooked, or the way Will laughed so easily around him. How wrong Xephos felt now, looking at him kneeling at his feet.  

“Whatever you have to do, you should do.” Ross tilted his head, looking up at Xephos. “I deserve it. I won’t fight you.” Ross smoothed his hands over his legs, trying not to clench his fingers together. He knew Xephos could hurt him, probably pretty badly. Even Trott had a grudging respect for Xephos’ power. Ross wasn’t afraid though. He’d been through worse, and he didn’t think Xephos was cruel just for the sake of it. It would hurt. But he deserved that.

“What do you take me for?” Xephos crushed his cigarette on the balcony rail, ignoring the smear of ash. “You expect me to what? To flog you? Give you some penance? And then it will be all better, all forgiven, things can just go back to how they were?”

Ross blinked, shocked by the intensity of Xephos’ outburst.

“Is that what it’s like with your  _ king _ ?” Xephos spat. “Take responsibility for your actions like a fucking adult, not a dog.” He fairly trembled with suppressed rage. The urge to actually lash out was strong, and it took all of his self control to hold it back. It wouldn’t help his point if he let himself do it.

“I’m sorry,” Ross said hesitantly. “I thought- I… I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“What do I want?” Xephos demanded. He reached down and grabbed Ross by the chin, forcing his head back. “I want you to feel as awful as I do. I want you to be afraid. I want you sick with fear and worry about what’s happening to Will the longer he stays in that greenhouse, and I want you to know that it is  entirely your fault he’s there now.”

Ross expected the burn of magic and was surprised when Xephos let go of him without doing a thing.

“He’s always been safe with me,” Ross steadied his voice.

“But is he safe  _ from  _ you, Ross? Safe from being used as a sacrifice in your corruptions? If you had to do it all again, would it be any different?”

Ross swallowed hard. He forced himself to meet Xephos’ gaze.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want-”

“What you wanted doesn’t matter,” Xephos said coldly. “Did you think about this, about the risks you were taking? Whether you had any right to risk my nephew’s life for your own ends? Or did you just obey?”

“Trott swore he’d be alright,” Ross protested. “I would never have taken him there otherwise. I never would have told him about the debt if I didn’t think I could keep Will safe.”

“This is all your fault.”

Ross made a soft, miserable sound. He looked at his hands again, haunted by his memories of Will and Midwinter. His thoughts spun, a chaotic whirl as he tried to figure out how to make Xephos forgive him.  

Xephos looked away, quelling the urge to do something, anything. He would not sink to violence, no matter how much he wanted to. The temptation was a terrible one, especially with Ross begging him for it. Xephos breathed through his nose, jaw clenched.

“Yes,” Ross agreed. He closed his eyes. “It is my fault. I’m sorry. I - I’ll-” Ross swallowed and clenched his hands. “I’ll fix this, I’ll make it up to you somehow, I… I’ll pay you back for Will’s debt, and for midwinter, for all of it. I’ll owe you.”

“You’ll what?” snapped Xephos. His voice trembled. “ _ You’ll owe me?  _ Is that how this works?”

Ross opened his eyes. He just wanted to fix this. He would pay whatever price Xephos asked. Anything not to lose the comfort Ross found in Xephos’ kitchen or the companionship he found in Will’s attic room.

“Yes. I owe you.”  The stricken expression on Xephos’ face made it hard, but Ross steeled himself. He wanted this to be the right thing to do. “I owe you a debt, Xephos, for what I’ve done to your family.”

“Go to hell, Ross,” Xephos almost shouted. Wind blew around them, the trees creaking. In the silence that followed, Xephos’ voice was low and furious.

“I don’t want any more of this - this fae bullshit. Don’t bring your debts into my house. This isn’t something you can just pay for with a blank check.”

“Then what is it?” Ross sounded lost. “Because I don’t know.” He sat back on his heels, defeat in the slump of his shoulders. Xephos’ words felt far worse than any physical punishment. They rattled around his memory, razor edged. He had no idea what the rules were anymore.

“Why should I figure this out for you?” Xephos looked away from him, still so angry.

“You won’t punish me. You won’t accept the debt. What are my options?” Half defiant, fully miserable, Ross curled his tail around himself. He had no idea what to do. This was going wrong so quickly.

Xephos gritted his teeth against the urge to light another cigarette. He glanced at the door, and thought about just going inside. Just walking away from this awful conversation, back into his warm home and downstairs, as far away from the fae as he could get.

“Get off your fucking knees, Ross.” Xephos gestured with one hand. He couldn’t stand seeing him like that any longer. “Now, goddamnit.”

Ross stood up, still confused and sick to his stomach. Xephos looked away from him, out into the night.

“All the time you’ve spent in my house,” he began. “Was this just some way to get close to Will, so you could use him?” Was I a fool this entire time, he asked himself silently. 

“No,” Ross said, shaking his head. “It’s not- it wasn’t like that.”

“Why then?”

“It just happened,” said Ross slowly. “I didn’t expect us to be friends, but it just sort of fell into place.”

Xephos sighed and put a hand to his face, thinking. Anger kept him warm, but standing on the frozen roof was starting to get to him. Ross watched him, noticing the lines at the corners of his eyes and the crease between his brows. In that moment, he looked older, much more fragile and human.

“Will and I… we have a lot in common.” Ross hesitated, wondering how much he should say. Wondering if what he could say about their friendship would only make Xephos more angry.

“What on earth do you possibly have in common?” asked Xephos. He folded his arms, the cold starting to numb his bare hands.

“Little things, mostly,” Ross hedged. Nervously, he twitched his tail as he tried to think of how to phrase the thought. “But I… I think we both understand what it is like to want something, to be close to something that’s bigger than we are.”

Xephos looked at him sharply then, and reached out to grab Ross by the collar. Ross wondered what he could see, just looking at him like that. He tried not to blink, or move at all, as Xephos tipped his face into the light.

“You are a fool, Ross.” Xephos’ eyes were dark. “I can believe you didn’t want to hurt him. But you’re no guardian, that’s for damn sure. Did you ever stop to think about what the consequences might be, what would happen afterwards?”

“No,” said Ross, wanting to shrink back. The shame he felt intensified in the face of Xephos’ quiet stare. He hadn’t thought beyond what they needed to do for the ritual, or the moment itself when Kirin was there. A mistake, he knew now, and one he could not fix. It was too late.

“He’s in the greenhouse. Perhaps you should try going there if you’re so concerned.”

“You know I can’t.”

Xephos let go then, pushing Ross away from him. He leaned heavily on the railing, making his decision. 

“He’ll be back on Friday, he said. You can come say goodbye then. That’s it. I don’t want you in this house otherwise.”

“Xephos-”

“Get out of here, Ross.”

Ross made a choked sound, cutting off the words he wanted to say. Xephos turned around, drawing himself up to his full height. He hardened himself against the sight of Ross pleading silently, his face stricken. Ross tried to catch his sleeve, not wanting things to end this way. Xephos shook his hand off and pushed past Ross to the door. Slamming it shut, Xephos took a ragged breath as he stood in Will’s empty room, fingers tingling in the warmth of the house.

Outside, Ross stared at the door for half an hour as if it might open again. It didn’t.

****  
  


* * *

****  
  


“Are you going to just let him keep doing whatever it is he is doing there?” Smith asked, an irritable edge in his voice. He paced the bedroom, gripping his elbows, and kicking at things in his way. It might have looked more intimidating if Smith wasn’t wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants and a faded t-shirt with the logo of some long closed bar.   

“Is there some reason I should stop him?” Trott responded, his voice deliberately mild. He was propped up on his elbows, trying to read while Smith kept interrupting. “Ross gives us an eye on Will and a view into the greenhouse court we wouldn’t have otherwise. Not to mention Xephos. It’s useful.”

“Does he realize that?”

“Ross isn’t a child, Smith, even if he is somewhat unworldly.” Trott tapped his lips, thinking about that. 

“I don’t like it.”

“That he goes, or that he  _ cares _ ?” Trott looked at him shrewdly, and Smith flushed.

“Any of it,” he growled.

“Ross always comes home,” Trott soothed. “Let him have his friendship.”

“It isn’t safe.”

“Nothing is  _ safe _ , sunshine.”

Smith made an angry sound, fists clenching. Trott put down his book with a regretful huff.

“He’ll be home soon, and he’ll be as glad as ever to be in your arms. Stop fretting about it.”

Smith turned his gaze to Trott, eyes dark as the bottom of a lake in the lamplight. 

“When are we going to do something about  _ him _ ?”

“ _ That _ isn’t something we can just rush into,” Trott warned. His fingers drummed on the book. 

“I know that!” Smith’s voice sharpened.

“Keep your voice down.” Trott glanced at Sips, who slept on peacefully on the other side of the bed. He wore one of those ridiculous sleep masks against the light. Smith grumbled, and shrugged.

“What do you want from me?” Trott continued in an aggravated tone. “I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got right now. You know that.”

“Just…” Smith shook himself irritably. “Whatever, we do this your way. But give me something, Trott,  _ anything _ . I can’t just sit on this as patiently as you.”

Trott sat up, and held out his hand. Smith lingered a moment, and then stalked towards the bed. He allowed Trott to pull him down, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Alright,” Trott whispered in Smith’s ear. “I’ve got something you can take care of for me. A little blood, a little fire, the sort of thing you like.”

Smith shrugged but looked interested. Trott slid an arm around his waist.

“Maybe keep your keys, if things go well,” Trott offered, knowing Smith would leap at the chance. Not that he intended to let Smith keep them forever. Smith needed a leash, and Trott needed a little peace of mind.

Smith smiled, something vicious in it. He nuzzled into Trott’s neck, and bit him, not quite hard enough to break the skin. But hard enough to make Trott gasp, and tangle his fingers into Smith’s hair. 

“Mind those teeth,” he chastised. Trott relaxed into Smith’s grip. Eyes closed, Trott stroked his fingers down Smith’s neck. He pulled Smith’s head back when he heard the front door with its distinctive heavy thump. “That’ll be Ross.”

Smith made to ask another question, and Trott hushed him with a quick kiss.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow, sunshine. Go fetch Ross to bed.”

 

* * *

Ross closed the fridge, and the kitchen went dark again. He didn’t bother turning on the lights. Instead he set the carton of juice on the counter and crushed ice cubes one at a time in his palm. Icy shards piled up in his cup, reminding him of the snow on the roof. The walk home had burned off a lot of the nervous energy, but Ross still felt sick and wired at the same time. He needed to do something with himself, but he didn’t really know what. 

Smith watched him for a moment, curious.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sliding up behind Ross, and pressing his mouth to the back of Ross’ neck.

“The ice dispenser is noisy, and I thought you’d be asleep.” Ross’ tail swung around, slipping between their legs.

“We were waiting for you.” Smith leaned against him. Ross was frozen solid, radiantly cold, and Smith could feel the chill through his clothes. He made a distressed noise in the back of his throat. “Have you been outside all night?”

“Yeah.” Ross poured the last of the pineapple juice into the plastic cup. The ice crackled faintly. 

“I missed you.”

“I was only gone for a couple hours, you know.”

Smith frowned, wondering why Ross seemed so miserable. That fucking kid, he thought. So much trouble over one goddamn kid. Smith didn’t see the point. So what if he was smart or powerful? There were always others. 

“Trott wants you to come to bed,” Smith said, stealing the cup for a quick drink. Ross let him, didn’t even try to take it back. Smith didn’t know if Ross was angry or worried about whatever left him moping like this.

Ross turned, leaning back against the counter, and held his hand out for the cup. Smith stepped in close, leaning up against him. Ross drank the rest of the juice as Smith insinuated his hands into Ross’ clothes. Ross nuzzled his head, taking comfort in his closeness and warmth. 

“He’ll get cranky if we keep him waiting,” Ross said finally as he set the cup down in the sink. He felt a little better, but not enough. Smith looked at him. Impulsively he pushed Ross back against the counter. Smith found the deep cold of him strange, even though it reminded him of the first time he touched Ross. There was something remote in Ross’ face, like the night he burned the church. Smith sometimes forgot he wasn’t a flesh and blood creature. But right now, Ross looked far more like the statue Smith wanted steal and less like the Ross he thought of as his. Smith wanted suddenly, violently, to bring him back. 

“He can wait,” Smith said under his breath. He kissed Ross, one hand on the back of his neck. Ross made a quiet, curious sound. Smith’s grip would have bruised, if Ross could bruise. He tried to dig his nails into Ross’ skin, wanting to leave a mark just like the first time. Or maybe just proof that Ross was alive, that he could bleed. 

“Smith,” Ross murmured against his lips, trying to pull back a little.

“Ross,” Smith acknowledged as his hand brushed over Ross’ waist, tugging at the buttons of his jeans impatiently.

“ _Smith_ ,” Ross whispered again, a little more urgency in his voice. One hand curled into the hem of Smith’s shirt, cold fingers making Smith jump. 

“What is it?” Smith paused, cupping Ross’ face in his hands as they leaned together. The chill made his hands ache the longer he held on, but Smith stubbornly refused to let go of Ross.

“I really fucked up tonight.”

“Okay,” Smith said, confused. “What happened?”

“I just… I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes.” Ross trailed off. He put his head against Smith’s hair, breathing in the scent of him. It soothed a little bit of the painful feeling in his chest, that awful sense of things too far gone to fix.

“I’m sure it’s okay, Ross.” Smith hugged him, because usually a little physical reassurance went a long way with Ross. Just as he was about to suggest they go back to the bedroom, Trott appeared in the doorway.

“Please tell me you’re not fucking in the kitchen, you know Sips hates that,” yawned Trott. He leaned against the wall, wearing just one of Smith’s shirts. 

“Trott?” Smith said, his unsettled voice making the name more of a question. Immediately, Trott blinked into full wakefulness.

“What is it?” He stepped into the kitchen, closing the gap to lay a hand on Ross’ arm. Ross heaved a sigh, a disconcerting effort from someone who didn’t actually need to breathe. 

“Will wasn’t there,” he began. “Xephos caught me on the roof though.”

“Fuck,” Smith said succinctly. 

“What happened? Are you hurt?” Trott asked, pushing Smith aside. He ran his hand up Ross’ arm, and across his chest. There was only the gentle background hum of Ross’ own magic and Trott breathed a little easier. Ross wasn’t wounded, at least not that he could see. 

“No.” Ross shook his head. “He didn’t hurt me. Not even when I offered to let him.”

“What the fuck, Ross?” Smith exclaimed, a little too loudly. 

“Why would you do that, sunshine?” Trott glared at Smith, making a gesture for him to quiet. 

“I told him what happened,” Ross mumbled, his voice miserable. “About the debt, and midwinter, everything.”

Trott tilted his head back for a moment, staring up at the ceiling while he considered just how bad this was liable to get for them. Xephos was always a bit of a wild card in Trott’s calculations. Still, he hadn’t done anything to Ross. That was good at least. From what he knew, Xephos seemed fond of Ross. Trott doubted that fondness would extend to overlooking their stunt with Will though. 

“I tried to apologize.” Ross lifted a hand, let it fall. 

“What exactly did you say?” Smith asked, his voice low and urgent. 

“I took responsibility for what happened, for Will being in the greenhouse. Offered him a debt.”

Trott sucked in a breath. Smith swore, and Ross raised his hands in a placating gesture. He tried to ease the shock of his words, hating that everyone seemed upset with him. Nothing he’d done tonight had worked right.

“He wouldn’t take it though,” he continued in a pained voice. “Told me to go to hell, that he didn’t want it.” That part hurt, for some reason, more than anything else Xephos said to him. He could take being called names, or take the blame. But being told to leave, being turned away - that wound cut deep. The queasy ache rose in his stomach again.  

“Thank your lucky stars for his foolishness,” Trott muttered under his breath. Smith made one of those angry, teeth grinding noises he made when he didn’t like something. But he put his head on Ross’ shoulder, hands tight on his bicep.

“We drove Will right into the greenhouse bastard’s arms.” Ross looked to Trott, begging for understanding.

“Will’s still the one who got involved with him in the first place,” Trott said. “Whatever he decides, that’s his deal.” Patiently, Trott kept his voice even and calm. It wasn’t going to help to remind Ross just how ill advised and ill fated this friendship was from the start. 

“You know it won’t be fair, Trott,” Ross said, his voice a little desperate. 

“Nothing’s fair, and nothing’s safe.” Trott glanced at Smith, who looked more than a little disturbed. He turned his focus back to Ross, stroking a hand reassuringly over his arm. “Did Xephos say anything else?”

“Mostly just that it was my fault this happened.” Ross stared down at the floor. “That I’m no guardian.” Smith shook his head, hearing the misery in Ross’ voice, the little catch that hinted at a much deeper grief.  

“But he didn’t take the debt?” Trott pressed. “Didn’t say thank you or anything like that? Didn’t acknowledge that you owed him?” 

“No.” Ross’ tail hung limply, not even stirring when Smith hugged him again, leaning hard into Ross’ side.

“Well, at least there’s that.” Trott wondered at that. Ross was incredibly lucky. He couldn’t think of anyone who would turn a debt down, especially not one offered so recklessly. Relieved of at least one worry, Trott relaxed a bit.

“Trott-”

“No, Ross.” Trott stopped him. He forced Ross to look at him, one hand on his face. “I know you think this is somehow on you, and you want to take the blame for it. But you are not responsible for Will or his decisions.”

“Nothing’s worked out right,” Ross said in a soft voice. “I feel awful.”

“You’ve been outside half the night in the snow, your friend has done something monumentally stupid, and someone yelled at you. Of course you feel like shit.” Trott took one of his hands and gestured for Smith to take the other. “Can’t go to bed frozen solid, come on.”

Reluctantly Ross followed Trott through their bedroom, and into the bathroom. 

“Clothes off,” Trott called over his shoulder as he flipped on the taps for the shower. He held one hand under the spray, feeling it warm quickly.  

Ross shrugged off his jacket, and Smith went back to unfastening the buttons of his jeans. Getting undressed was a relief. Ross snorted, watching Smith slide his hand over Ross’ stomach.

“What?” Smith asked, his innocent voice betrayed by the way he had to bite his lips. “Why’d you get button fly jeans anyway? They’re the worst.”

“You’re the worst,” Ross muttered. But he kissed Smith’s hair, glad for the moment. He took so much comfort out of the small things, like Smith pretending to be nonchalant about those buttons or his casual attempt to feel Ross up at the most inappropriate time. 

“Come on, get in.” Trott pushed him into the hot water. “You’ll feel better when you get warm.”

Ross nodded, and sank down so that he was sitting on the floor of the shower. Eyes closed, he let the water beat down his head. Trott sighed, and glanced at Smith. Already out of his clothes, he slipped into the shower, settling down so he could rest his cheek on Ross’ shoulder. The water quickly flattened his hair, and he wrapped his arms around Ross’ waist. Trott tossed the shirt and joined them, carefully closing the glass door. Smith opened his eyes a slit, and grinned.

“Trott, your dick’s right in my face, mate.” 

“That’s cause you like it so much, sunshine.” He swatted at Smith’s head as he stepped over Ross to sit on the ledge against the back wall. Sips was very fond of this ridiculous shower, with its bench and multiple shower heads and settings Trott never even bothered to use. It was a stupid luxury just for the sake of itself, which was probably why Sips liked it so damn much.

He put his feet on Ross’ thigh, thinking he probably shouldn’t enjoy the contrast of cold marble with the hot water quite so much given Ross’ mood. It felt nice though. Maybe he could get him to play in the snow or something, and then stick him in the shower. That sounded fun. They could go roam around in the park or something, throw snowballs at Smith. Eat really awful hot dogs or pizza or something. Do something to cheer him up a bit. He stifled a yawn, half listening to Smith as he told Ross stories about people he’d seen that day while Ross slowly warmed back to something like normal.

Ross didn’t speak again until Trott was drying him off afterwards. Water puddled on the bathroom floor. 

“Did we do the right thing?” he asked unexpectedly, taking a towel from Trott. “Using Will, to make the deal for Sips’ protection.”

“Yes,” Trott said very simply. “There aren’t very many things the greenhouse bastard would have bargained for, and the debt you had was the right leverage to make it work.”

“We might have made things worse though, for Will.”

“Ross, listen to me. The only responsibility you have is to your king. Not Will. What he chooses to do with himself is out of your hands.” 

“I know, but…” Ross rubbed at his head with the towel. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

“This might not be yours to fix,” Trott sighed. “We did what we needed to do, to protect Sips’ life. Nothing else matters.”

“But-”

“Ross.” Trott slid his fingers between Ross’ and gripped his hand tightly. “You have spent way too much time worrying about this.”

“I just don’t want to be the monster Xephos thinks I am.” 

“You’re not human, and they are never going to see you as human.” Smith finally spoke up from where he sat on the bathroom counter. He dropped his towel, shaking water out of his hair. “We are monsters Ross, and you should be glad for it. Being human is shit.”

Ross frowned.

“I don’t understand.”

“Things just are, mate.” Smith hopped off the counter. “No point in stressing over what you can’t change.” He ran a hand over Ross’ shoulder, and sauntered into the bedroom.

“None of us are ever going to be like them,” Trott continued, watching Smith. He let go of Ross’ hand to wipe away the water dripping into his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean we’re automatically the bad guys. Everyone’s got a choice.”

“I’m not sure anymore if I did make the right choice,” Ross admitted. 

“I think you did.”

Ross lifted his tail, and looped it around Trott’s arm. Warm and heavy, it curled around from Trott’s elbow to his wrist. Trott gripped the ring just under the sharp edge, feeling the ridges in the glass.

“We trust each other, yeah?” Trott asked, looking at him intently. Ross could see the flecks of green in Trott’s brown irises.   

“We do,” Ross nodded. 

“We did the right thing,” Trott repeated. “Don’t get so caught up in their lives, sunshine. It never ends well for anyone.” He smiled a bit ruefully as he squeezed Ross’ tail.

“Did you?” asked Ross, curious about the expression on Trott’s face. “Get caught up with someone?”

“ _ That _ is a very long story, and we’re both tired. Some other night, alright?”

“Alright, Trott.” He released Trott’s arm, letting his tail swing down. Trott hugged him and they stood there silently for a moment, water dripping from Trott’s hair.

“Smith’s probably taken all the blankets,” Trott yawned. 

“You can share with me,” Ross murmured, his arms loosely clasped around Trott. 

“Come keep me warm then,” chuckled Trott. 

Smith was pressed up beside Sips, half asleep already and with most of the pillows in his grasp. He gestured sleepily at Ross, pulling him down into the center of the bed. Trott clambered in behind him, tugging and rearranging the blankets to his satisfaction. Looking down at the others, he smiled very slightly at the sight of Smith trying to find some way to sprawl on Sips and Ross at the same time. Trott tucked himself under Ross’ arm, savoring the warmth remaining from the shower. Ross closed his eyes, and tried not to think about anything but the sound of Sips’ faint snoring.

 

* * *

Snow started falling, and Ross wondered if it was some kind of sign. He’d taken to trying to find meaning in any small thing lately as a way to stave off the restless sense of unhappiness. He hoped it was a good sign as he climbed to the roof. When he saw the light on in the attic, he let himself believe that was true. He knocked carefully on the door, and waited. It was hard to tamp down the anxious surge he felt, the fear that Will wouldn’t answer the door or that Xephos would send him away again.

Will opened it hesitantly. The sight of Ross startled him. “What the hell are you doing here?” he blurted.

“I came to see you,” Ross answered, shifting the six pack of beer under his arm. 

“You should not be here,” Will whispered. He stuck his head out the door and looked around as if he expected to find someone else outside. “Uncle Xephos-”

“Already knows I’m here, I’m sure.” Ross wondered if Xephos was listening, or if he was determined to ignore them. “He caught me up here a few days ago, waiting for you.”

“Shit,” Will said under his breath. He started to shiver, little eddies of snow blowing around his bare feet. “Shit, just come in before someone sees you.”

Ross followed him inside, gently shutting the door behind him. The magic of the threshold flexed just enough to let him in the door. He imagined he felt some resistance, and thought of Xephos’ disapproving stare. Staying well away from the stairs leading down into the house, Ross stepped forward.

Will moved backwards, watching him with an uneasy expression.  

“Why are you here?” he asked again.

“You haven’t answered your phone in weeks,” Ross answered. “I wanted to make sure things were okay.” He set the six pack of beer on the desk, looking at the dusty tangle of cables where Will’s laptop usually rested. It was hard to say if things were missing, given the general disorder and mess but the laptop was an obvious one. 

“Things are… complicated.” Will tucked his hands into his sleeves. 

“Xephos said you’d been staying in the greenhouse.” Ross kept his gaze on the desk, running a hand through the dust. 

“Yeah, well.” Will swallowed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He watched Ross pop the cap off a bottle of beer with his tail and hold it out.

“The guy at the Whip In said this is like chocolate cake and I thought about your birthday cake,” Ross said, something wistful in his expression. Carefully, Will took the bottle. Ross smiled.

“Are you going to drug me again?” he couldn’t help but ask, staring at the beer. Will didn’t think he was ever going to eat a marshmallow again. He’d rather not have beer ruined for him as well. 

“Look-” With a little shake of his head, Ross opened a bottle for himself.

“No, I want to say this. You totally fucked me over, you and your friends. What you did...”

“Will,” Ross began wearily. He didn’t want to start like this but apparently they were going to anyway. “You gave me that debt. You know how that works. Did you think I wouldn’t use it?”

“Did you have to?” Will said, his voice tight, and angry. His shoulders were tense as he turned away from Ross. “Did it occur to you that maybe you could have, I don’t know,  not  done that?”

“Did you think about what it might cost?” Ross shot back, defensive. “You know better.”

Will flushed and shoved his cell phone charger into the socket with more force than necessary. “I thought I was talking to my  _ friend, ” _ he snapped. “Not making a deal.” He plugged in his phone, listening to the familiar chime as it connected to the house network. Home, but not really home. 

“What do you want me to say, Will?” Ross set his beer on the desk, and spread his hands. “Because I don’t know. Everything is fucked up, everyone tells me something different to think about what happened, and I just don’t fucking know anymore.” 

“How about we start with why you thought it was a good idea to cut my wrists?” snapped Will. “Or use me in your little ritual at all?”

“That was-” Ross started.

“Fucking awful,” Will interrupted. 

“What should I have done instead? Cut your throat to make it look especially gory?” 

“Maybe not involve me in this fucked up power play going on between your side and his?”

“ _You’re_ the one who asked me to help you do something for your greenhouse master!” Ross stared at Will incredulously. “Don’t act like you didn’t get involved. I just didn’t ask for your help.”

They looked at each other, both of them angry and defensive. The air crackled, and Ross realized how quiet the bedroom was without the usual hum of Will’s machines. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Will took a long drink. 

“I tried to keep you as safe as I could,” Ross said, his voice quieter and more regretful. “Something was always going to happen, you know.”

“Safe as houses,” Will said sarcastically. “Just a lucky card you could keep in your back pocket.”

“Is that what this is?” Ross shook his head. “You think I’ve just been friends with you all for that moment?”

“Haven’t you?” Will finally looked at him. 

“No,” Ross denied heatedly. It hurt to hear Will accuse him of that deception. It was one thing, coming from Xephos in his rage. Ross could understand that. But he thought Will knew him better. The anger in his eyes took him aback. Ross never considered that maybe some things couldn’t go back to the way they were until now. 

“Right.” Will laughed, a bitter sound. It reminded Ross of Xephos. He looked back down at his beer, rolling it back and forth in his hands.

“Is that what he told you?”

Will opened his mouth to deny it, and stopped.

“Of course.” Ross bit the words off, hard and angry. “Is it so easy for you to assume the worst about me?” 

“You kidnapped me, and used me!” Will raised his voice. “Not for the first time either!”

“Because we had to protect Sips!” Ross’ tail swung behind him, reflecting the light. “Because we all knew that he’d try to kill Sips this winter, and we couldn’t let him.”

“So it had to be me?”

“You’re the one person in this city we thought he would bargain for.”

“Couldn’t you have just asked for my help?” asked Will, angry and exasperated. “Couldn’t we have worked something out that didn’t involve this debt and this whole fucked up thing?”

Ross wondered how someone as clever as Will could be so blind. As if it would be so easy to do. As if this wasn’t a struggle to keep themselves alive and free. “Will, what do you think would have happened if we had asked for something he wasn’t willing to give? Or if he thought you were in on it with us?”

“What are you talking about?” Will asked, irritated by the direction of Ross’ questions.

“Say we didn’t ask for Sips’ life to be protected in the city,” Ross said slowly. “What if we asked for more of the city? What if we had asked for the whole city?”

Will stared. He took a swallow of his beer, trying to buy himself another moment to answer. Ross kept talking though, tail still twitching behind him. 

“Do you think he would have traded for you then? Would he trade for you if he thought you were a traitor?”

“I-”

“He bought you back because he doesn’t consider Sips a threat to his position.”

“That’s not -”

“He would have let us cut your throat if the choice was giving up power, or if he thought you’d turned on him.”

“You can’t say that!” Will finally interrupted, raising his voice. “That isn’t true!”

“I am saying that because it is true,” Ross said firmly. “The sooner you wake up to that, the better.”

“No!”

“He doesn’t love you, Will.” Ross despaired of making him see what was so clear to everyone else.  

“And you do?” Will asked in a cold voice.

“No,” Ross said very quietly. “This isn’t a fairy tale, Will. I am not going to save you. You have to save yourself from this hole you’re digging.”

Will sat down on the edge of his bed. He took a swallow of his beer and let it dangle in one hand. The room filled up with a solid silence, one that reminded Ross of being underwater. 

“You used me as bait,” Will said slowly. He looked up at Ross, eyes troubled. “If the only way to keep Sips alive was to kill me, would you have?”

Ross blinked, surprised he’d come to that point so quickly. After a moment he nodded. He couldn’t lie about this, not just because of the rules. He broke rules all the time. It couldn’t really get much worse, and he supposed Will deserved at least the truth of it.

Will laughed, a bit angry and shocked. The honesty of the answer surprised him. He stared at Ross, at the light reflected in the sharp edge on the end of his tail. It reminded him of the burn of thin cuts on his forearms, the way they collected his blood in a plastic cup. Will looked down at his beer, and felt a little queasy imagining more blood. 

“You can’t really claim the moral high ground then can you?”

“I never said I wasn’t a monster, Will.” Ross sighed. “I’ve done a lot of things, and that was not the most terrible of them.” He was a criminal, he thought. For so many reasons. Ross just hadn’t thought there was such a gap between himself and people, hadn’t realized just how far it was between them. 

“All this time, I’ve just thought…” Will trailed off. He set the beer on his nightstand. “I thought you and I were not a part of this… whatever this thing is between your side and his.”

“We wouldn’t be, if you weren't going back to the greenhouse.”

“Why is this on me?” Will exploded. “That’s not fair. What about you? Your best friends kill people for fun! You kill people! You’re just as much a part of this mess, if not more!”

“I’m not the one selling myself!” Ross shot back. “What you’re doing is-”

“Why does it get to be different for you? Why do you get to do whatever you want?”

“Because you’re human and you don’t understand-”

“No, you don’t understand!” Will stood up, furious. “You don’t understand what this is like for me at all! This city! This magic! Any of it!”

Ross looked away, a pained expression on his face. He tucked his tail close around his leg, trying to make himself still, and careful again. Will glared at the bottle on his nightstand. They avoided each other’s eyes, looking away from each other. Tension made the air crackle, like too much static electricity. Ross was surprised that not a single light bulb had popped during that outburst. Will was getting better at controlling himself, it seemed.

“I have never lied to you,” Ross started. Will rolled his eyes, and Ross frowned. “I bend a lot of rules, especially around you, but I have never lied.”

“Fine, so you’ve never lied.” Will snorted, and set his beer on the nightstand. He laced his fingers together, looking at his hands. His ring caught the light in a flash of gold. “Should I give you a medal?”

“He will make you his plaything, use you up until there’s nothing left he wants out of you.” Ross took a step towards Will, his voice low and intense. He tried to put all of his sincerity, all his feelings for Will into his words. “You aren’t his equal. He sees you more like a pet, a dog to be fed and trained. That’s what you’re getting into. That’s why everyone worries. Why I do.”

“He doesn’t see me as an animal,” Will said heatedly, brushing away Ross’ words with one hand. “You have this terrible idea of him because you’re on opposite sides of whatever this thing is. He’s teaching me! He knows things even... there’s just so much. No one else can give me the help he can.” He fidgeted with the ring on his hand, twisting it round and round. 

“Your uncle-”

“Doesn’t know how this works,” Will interrupted. “He doesn’t understand my magic.”

“But Xephos must know someone,” continued Ross. He watched Will with a creeping certainty. The sickness twisted in his stomach.

“Who’s going to teach me?” Will snorted. “Hedge witches who don’t know anything about how electricity works?”

“You already did it, didn’t you?” asked Ross angrily.

“Yes, alright, yes.” Will clenched his hand into a fist. “So save the lectures.”

Will looked up at Ross, his expression defiant and guilty at the same time. Ross swallowed his words, feeling suddenly at a loss. The anger cooled into a miserable lump in the back of his throat.

“Does Xephos know?” Poor Xephos, Ross thought. His worst fears were all happening. Ross wondered what he would do - if he would confront Kirin on his own, if he’d try to keep Will from him. He couldn’t imagine that Xephos would give up, no matter how dire it seemed. Ross wanted to go to him, to offer his help. It ached, knowing he couldn’t. That he was responsible for this terrible thing in Xephos’ eyes. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Will admitted. He had kept his fingers tucked into his palm, holding his hand out of sight. After the disaster at Christmas about the ring, he hadn’t wanted to start all over again. Xephos had only hugged him, not even barraging him with the questions Will expected. Xephos and Honeydew just seemed glad he was home. They hadn’t talked about any of it, and Will wondered now about that. Maybe they did know already.

“Oh Will.” Ross grimaced. Too late, too late, he thought with despair. What a fool he’d been. Xephos was right. “Damn it. Why did you do this?”

“You don’t understand.” Will spread his arms wide. “I need a teacher, and he’s offered me so much. This is the chance of a lifetime.”

“I don’t understand, you’re right.” He crouched at Will’s feet, set the beer down, and took his hand. The ring gleamed. “What did you give him?”

“Nothing I can’t live without.” Will looked away as he said it.

Ross wanted to shake him for it. He looked back down at Will’s hand instead, fighting the urge to force Will to tell him what deal he’d made. Gently, he held Will’s fingers and studied the ring. Bands of antler were bound with gold, the antler a dull white verging on grey. The metal gleamed, bright and smooth. Ross couldn’t see any markings, but it didn’t mean they weren’t there. He wished he could look at things the way Trott did sometimes. Trott would probably have questions about the ring, and Ross tried to memorize every detail. He was careful not to touch it. Ross imagined he could feel the heat of the ring, and the magic binding Will to Kirin. Part of him expected it to sprout little green tendrils, digging into Will’s skin. The vision made him uneasy, and Ross jerked his head to dispel it.

“Are you going to stay with him then?” he asked, letting go of Will’s hand. Will looked at the ring, and closed his fingers into a fist.

“Not yet...” Will chewed on his lip, looking uncertain. “There’s a lot of things to sort out. And my uncles, you know they don’t… well.”

“They don’t understand,” Ross said. It came out more angry than he intended. Will frowned, pulling away a little.

Ross lowered his knees to the floor and sat there beside Will’s bed. He picked up his beer, not really tasting it. Everything human was transitory, Ross reminded himself. None of this was meant to last. He tried to quash the sadness, put it aside. If Will could pretend everything was fine with his decision, then so could he.

“Who is going to play Castle Crashers with me when you go?” he asked, trying to make his voice calm. He closed his eyes for a moment. “We haven’t finished Left 4 Dead either.” When Kirin won’t let us meet, he wanted to say. With this house closed to him, and Will in the greenhouse, there would be few places they might see each other. He somehow couldn’t imagine Will coming to his place.

“We can play online,” Will offered. “You have an XBox, right?”

“How will I stop you from cheating?” 

“I don’t cheat,” denied Will automatically. Ross looked up with a disbelieving expression, and Will amended hastily. “Well, I’ll cheat less.”

Their smiles were strained, lines of tension on both their faces. Ross wanted to climb onto the bed and wrap himself around Will, to hold him physically there so he wouldn’t leave the safety of Xephos’ home again. The impossibility of it burned him. 

“Do you want to play?” Will asked. “Since you’re here.” He tried to sound casual about it, as if things weren’t what they were now. As if it might not be the last time they could do this. Ross decided to stay as long as he could. He didn’t think he’d be back here again.

“Sure.” Ross settled with his back against the bed. He drank as the console flickered to life, and Will hunted for the controllers. This was the moment he’d wanted. Now that it was here, nothing felt right. Will handed him a controller, and sat down cross legged on the bed. Maybe it would be easier if they just didn’t look directly at each other, Ross thought. He resisted the urge to put his head against Will’s knee as the game loaded, afraid that he would just pull away. It hurt enough already.

* * *

****  
  


Smith tossed the clipboard onto the passenger seat, and it clattered to the floor. He ignored it. Work was over for the day, and he was not required to care. The door code was easy enough to remember. Glancing over his shoulder, he eased the little car into the traffic, and started looking for the nearest gas station. He growled a little under his breath at the engine’s stutter. Next time, he’d steal a better car, he told himself. This one annoyed him.

Last night, Smith had flirted with a blond stranger in a bar holding a set of car keys in his hand as he ordered a beer.  The man was wary at first, but Smith had an easy affable manner when he put his mind to it. They shared a few beers, leaning against the wall of the little sports bar. It was easy enough to get into his car, a faded blue Honda sedan. Easier still to get the man’s jeans off, and even easier to kill him. The back seat was still wet, and the car smelled ever so faintly of blood. The sex was good, but it was even sweeter to hold him down while he fought to breathe. Smith hadn’t ripped out a throat in far too long, and sinking his teeth into the man’s neck brought back memories of so many others. He still felt lazy with satisfaction from it, full of blood, and magic. 

He bought a spare can of gasoline at a Shell station, and then walked to the McDonalds side of the building to buy food. In the bathroom he changed out of his delivery uniform, and back into his regular clothes. Smith felt himself relax some, the pleasure of being back in his favorite jeans a visceral one. He didn’t mind helping Trott out so much, but he utterly resented the stupid uniform. Even if Trott said the blue made him look pretty. Smith looked at himself in the mirror, combing his hair back with his fingers. He was pretty enough in blue jeans.

There was a parking garage across the street from the building he’d left earlier, and he parked in the corner on the second floor where he had a clear view of the street below and the front door. Smith sat on the hood of his car in the mostly empty garage, eating french fries as the sun set. Should have bought some beer, he thought as he licked his fingers. The salt stung his lips. He felt good though, enjoying the warmth of the car hood, and the cold air. Smith brought a knee up, one booted foot resting on the hood, and the other dangling over the side. He watched the light slide over the scales on his new boots, shimmering like an oil slick. Smith couldn’t help but think maybe whatever died to make his boots was probably something weird he didn’t want to actually meet. A smear of dried blood marred the shine, and he reached down to wipe it away. 

Across the street, the old building was out of place between the glass and steel towers rising all along the street. Property like that was worth a lot of money, right in the middle of the city. It was something of a wonder that no one had managed to knock it down, turn it into a high rise tower, Smith thought. Probably would after tonight.

Somewhere in the shabby old building with its heavily decorated facade was an office belonging to another one of the fae. She went by Annabelle, with a completely ridiculous surname. Smith had a lot of names, not that he used them much. But he thought _Ravenlord_ was too absurd, too pretentious and fussy. Seriously, who named themselves something like that, he scoffed. Ostensibly, Annabelle Ravenlord was just a wealthy philanthropist who kept a quaint little office downtown. One of Kirin’s many court fae, she had city connections that were useful to pluck the strings of the human world churning along beneath their feet. Trott wanted to make her life harder, so here Smith was in the evening gloom watching the humans trickle out of the building one by one. 

Smith still found the entire work situation annoying, and a waste of his time. He could be watching television with Sips, or haunting bars, or taking Ross strange places, or pretty much doing anything else. Getting inside places though, that was a hell of a con. He had to give Trott credit. It was a smart idea. Mostly the people though were the bit that kept him from driving off in boredom. Well, also Trott. But the people made it bearable. Flirting with them, finding ways to steal their names and get into their buildings, teasing them, making note of bright young things who looked like they wouldn’t mind meeting up somewhere after work for a drink or two. Smith enjoyed all of that.

Delivering regular packages to another office in the building gave him access to the door code, when the overworked secretary for a busy architect got tired of buzzing him into the place every time he came round. Whenever Smith dropped off the packages, he leaned on the counter and practiced his most disarming smile on Cate. He enjoyed the way she brightened to see him. Almost enough to want to drown her, to feel her heartbeat in his hands. Except for that annoying rule of Trott’s about not drowning anyone he met at work.  

He watched Cate leave work, hair done up in a crown of braids, and a bright green coat. For half a minute, he considered following her to find out where she lived. Smith thought about the place she might have, some one bedroom apartment with a stack of paintings in the closet and big windows. There was one behind her desk that he rather liked. Cate had admitted with a blush that it was her work. Smith didn’t know a damn thing about art, except where to find the sculpture gallery in the big museum Ross liked to visit. He just liked to look at beautiful things. She might be glad for some time off. Maybe she’d get to spend more time painting, leaving little flecks of color in the skin around her nails. Maybe she’d quit her day job and he’d find her in one of those little art galleries one night, drinking wine and ready to drown.

Smith wiped his hands off on his jeans, and gathered his things. Easy enough to glamour himself so no one would notice him, or the can of gasoline he carried. He wondered if Annabelle was in there, up on the top floor. He hadn’t seen any fae come out the door, and he wasn’t sure how many might mark time in her office. Did they actually work? He didn’t have any idea. Smith fingered the knife in his jacket, tongue running over the edge of his teeth. Not that a fight was a problem, but Trott had droned on and on about making sure it was clean and quiet. Usually he would just ignore that, but there was the whole business with giving him back his keys for good this time. No more of this back and forth business.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket to lock the car. There was a slim leather fob now, attached to the silver ring. Smith rubbed it with his thumb, the heavy brown leather slightly rough. He wondered a little, what it meant for Trott, and if it hurt to take a piece of his skin this way. Smith wondered what kind of change this might make, if it could make a difference to his own magic. Presumably Trott knew, because he seemed to know every damn thing. He didn’t know. Right now it didn’t feel any different. Perhaps this was some weird exercise in trust. That sounded like something Trott would do.

Traffic thinned, and Smith dashed across the street. Inside, he took the stairs two at a time, his new boots sliding on the worn stone steps. He let his fingers rest on the wooden bannister, glossy with time and age. There were several different offices in the building. Annabelle’s, taking up the top floor. The architect on floor two, a graphic designer, a conclave of lawyers on the ground floor, some kind of environmentalist non-profit on the third. Surely, in all those people, there were a million reasons for the building to burn down before you even got to questions of insurance, and property values. Easy enough to deny connections so long as no one could place any of the Garbage Court at the scene. Smith was fully confident he could pull this off without a hitch. Then Trott could stop complaining he never took care of anything properly. 

Smith heard voices, and slipped into the men’s room on the third floor. Standing just behind the door, he listened to the conversation of two women leaving the office further down the hall. It felt empty, this late in the evening. Anyone who had anywhere to be or anyone they wanted to be with was gone. He listened as he climbed the stairs, straining to hear any sign of life. 

The fourth floor hallway was silent. Smith stepped noiselessly towards the door, stopping just short of the windowed bit of wall. The lights were off inside. For several minutes he waited, listening. Nothing moved or made a sound. Smith twisted the door knob hard, feeling the wood creak, and splinter. The door popped open almost too easily. Should have put in a deadbolt, he thought with grim amusement. Or even an alarm. If there was one, it was silent.

Moving quickly, Smith slipped through the office until he found the place most likely to be Annabelle’s. It was full of plants, and flowers. A bird cage in the corner was covered with a cloth, making him uneasy. He frowned, stepping lightly. Whatever that was, he didn’t want to know. Hopefully it would stay quiet. Smith searched through the room, trying to make as little noise as possible just in case. He didn’t bother to even open the locked box from the desk drawer, just tucked the thing under his arm. Trott could figure out what he wanted from there. It was probably enchanted anyway, and he had no time or patience to mess with enchantments. He swiped the handful of USB drives out of a drawer and tucked them into a jacket pocket. 

Smith headed back downstairs, and smashed open the door to the office on the third floor. The sound of the door cracking was loud, but nothing stirred. He soaked the reception area in gasoline, and made a trail through the warren of tiny offices. The people in this office were usually sort of awful, dreary ones who tried to hand him fliers about global warming or eating vegan. Unable to conceal his amusement or his annoyance, Smith had to fight the urge to invite the most annoying receptionist out for a drink to ask him his opinion on predators of humans, right before he killed him. That whole ‘no killing people on your route’ rule really cut into his fun. Gleefully he pushed things over, letting computer monitors crack on the floor. A box of pamphlets tumbled and spilled everywhere. Smith enjoyed the caustic stink of gasoline, with its promise of imminent destruction. 

Outside, he poured the rest of the fuel along the stairs. A handful of matches, and there were flames racing along the hall, crawling up the walls. With luck, the fire would cover up any signs of the break-in on the fourth floor. Maybe they wouldn’t even miss the box. A simple plan, and one that didn’t require much except glamour, and gasoline. He liked it. Trott would see how well it worked, and he’d be glad to let Smith do more things like this.   

“Shit,” Smith muttered, remembering the architect’s office and the painting. The heat buffeted him, the air filling with smoke. He vaulted down the steps to the second floor. When he kicked open the door, an alarm went off somewhere. Too late to worry now, he thought. Quickly, he knocked over a few things, and pushed open the door into the architect’s office. It couldn’t hurt, he justified as he started a quick fire out of a mass of papers piled on the desk. On his way out, he snatched Cate’s painting off the wall. It was a landscape, brilliantly sunny but full of shadows under the trees. Up close, he could make out the glint of water, a stream running through the woods. Smith wasn’t really sure why he wanted it so much. It was beautiful. He couldn’t leave it to burn. 

The smell of smoke made him grin, excited and pleased. He watched the fire take hold, bright chaotic flickers that followed him down the hall. It was already quite hot, enough to bring a flush to his face. Something upstairs cracked with a loud bang. Smith wished someone was here to enjoy the destruction he was causing. A fire like this deserved an appreciative audience. He wondered if Sips would want to come along sometime. Sips would probably enjoy burning down a building. They could drink beers, sit on the hood of the car, watch the fire light up the night. 

Out the side door, the box tucked carefully under his arm, Smith wondered at how easy that was. Sweat cooled on his back, sticking his shirt to his skin. He held the painting to his chest. Checking to make sure the glamour still held, he watched the birds flitting through the street light as they abandoned their places on the building. A fire alarm sounded somewhere in the building, a muffled ringing. He could see the orange glow in the third floor windows now. Smith jogged across the street, a shadow moving between the lights, and into the parking garage. He waited until he could see flames engulfing the top floor, and hear the distant sound of a siren approaching. Turning on the radio, he sang along cheerfully as he pulled out into traffic before the fire trucks took over the street.  

Smith parked the car, a mile down from one of the bridges on the muddy shore. He tossed the wallet into the back, then carefully set the box and painting on a rock a few feet away. He didn’t much care for being wet,  and  cold, not so late, and far from home. So he pulled the handbrake, and put the car in the lowest gear. With a quick yank, he ducked out of the car as it started to roll forward. It went quickly into the water, the tail lights glowing like eyes. A few flakes of snow drifted down as he watched it sink. Smith waited for a few more moments, wondering if anything would be drawn to the corpse in the trunk. You never quite knew what might be out in the water. Especially so close to a bridge. With a resigned grunt, he snatched up his prizes, and started home.

 

* * *

Early in the day, Trott shuffled into the living room with a cup of coffee. He was not surprised to find Ross standing in front of the windows. When Smith crawled into bed late in the evening, Ross was still out, and he wasn’t there when Trott woke up in the morning. That he was brooding over the view wasn’t the best sign, Trott thought.

“What’s on your mind, sunshine?” 

“He’s already done it.” Ross set his jaw, but the swish of his tail gave away his turmoil. Trott frowned, not needing clarification. There was only one thing that could mean. He set his mug down on the coffee table, and rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes. 

“Not good, then.” Trott dropped onto the sofa with a yawn. He wore one of Ross’ shirts, and a pair of Smith’s pajama pants. They were too long, but it was easier to pull them on than to find any of his clothes in the pile of clean laundry.

“I don’t know what Will traded him, but it had to be important.” Ross paused, staring out the window at the rising sun reflecting off the buildings. “His heart maybe. I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.” He’d just tried to seem utterly unconcerned, as if it didn’t matter. 

“Come here.” Trott frowned when Ross didn’t move, still staring at the city outside. “Ross.”

“He’s got a ring,” Ross said absently. “It’s made of antler, and gold-” He’d wanted to go down and talk to Xephos, after Will had fallen asleep. But he was too afraid of finding himself shut out entirely. He’d accept Xephos being angry, yelling, anything but the ominous silence. 

“Ross, come here.” Trott snapped his fingers. With slow steps, Ross crossed the room. 

“I fucked this all up, Trott, I really did.” Ross dropped to his knees beside the sofa, and folded his arms on Trott’s legs. He put his head down on his arms, clinging to Trott.

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” said Trott. “Will made his own choices.” Stupid choices, but then very few people made smart choices in Trott’s experience. 

“We pushed him pretty hard right into it. I didn’t want that. I thought you didn’t either.” He wanted to add that Trott had promised him Will would be safe. But there didn’t seem to be much point. He knew Trott would shake his head, tell him something about the fickle nature of people.

“I don’t,” Trott shrugged. He stroked Ross’ hair. Idly, he wondered if Ross could make it grow longer, or if it would grow back if he cut it. “But you don’t always get what you want.”

Ross closed his eyes. It felt good to rest there, Trott’s hand a comforting weight on his head. He felt so very weary, and sad. He’d lost all of it, all the strange friendship and warmth of that home gone forever. Just like the church, he couldn’t go back.

“At some point he’s going to use Will against you directly,” Trott said in his quiet, serious voice. 

“I know.”

“You can’t let your fondness for him get in the way when it happens.”

“I  _ know _ , Trott.” Ross sounded resigned. “I know what I have to do.”

“As long as you remember,” Trott cautioned. He smoothed Ross’ hair. “Have you slept at all?”

“No,” Ross admitted. “I’m fine.”

Trott doubted that, but he didn’t press the issue. Instead he leaned forward to snag his coffee, and they sat there in the early quiet without speaking. Sunlight crept along the wall, pale light filling up the room.

“What do you need, sunshine?” Trott asked, wondering what thoughts Ross was turning over. 

“Are we evil, Trott?” asked Ross.

“Evil?” Trott tipped his head back, considering the question thoughtfully. “Maybe in the eyes of your church fathers, or by some human standard. But good and evil, that’s a complex question. I don’t think we are. But I am biased.”

“The church would say yes,” Ross said pensively. “I let Smith burn the cathedral down. I’ve taken lives, we all have. I left my place, abandoned the church.”

“I would say it was more evil to bind you to something you didn’t understand, and abandon you there alone than it was for you to leave.” Trott looked down at Ross. The morning light cast blue shadows on the sofa where it touched his horns. 

“I knew it wasn’t meant for me,” said Ross. “The words in the church, I mean. I could never touch the light the way they could.” He tried, for so long. It never worked.

“So don’t hold yourself to their standards. We aren’t human, after all.”

“So everyone keeps reminding me.”

Ross exhaled, and Trott wondered how someone so much older than himself could seem so young. He’d looked up the history of Ross’ cathedral once, out of some morbid curiosity. Supposing that they put Ross up on the roof sometime towards the end of the fifty odd years it took to build, that still made him well over six hundred years old. But only a handful of years outside of the church, as something free and strange. So maybe it wasn’t so odd for him to seem uncertain of the world. Ross hadn’t even had time to work through all the combinations of breakfast at the diner he and Sips favored, much less solve all his philosophical questions.  

“We are what we are, Ross, and part of that is the choices we make. No one is entirely good or evil.” 

“I suppose so,” Ross nodded, something unconvinced in his expression. He still looked sad. The situation with Will was clearly eating at him more than Trott anticipated. Setting his mug back on the table, Trott pushed him up off his legs. Then he slid down to the floor beside Ross. He put one hand on Ross’ face, thumb under his chin. 

“Look at me, sunshine.” Trott held him gently, waiting for Ross to focus on him. He traced the perfectly smooth line of Ross’ cheek. “I told you, it’s not a good idea to get so attached to human beings. It just hurts you in the end.” 

“What about Sips?” Ross asked, brow furrowed. “We’re very attached to him.”

“That’s a special case.” Trott laughed ruefully. “You can’t count Sips.”

“What about me?” Sips peered down at them, wrapped in his robe. He took Trott’s spot on the sofa, and Ross leaned heavily into his legs. 

“You’re up early.” Trott stroked the back of Ross’ neck, looking up at his king. Sips raised his eyebrows, and ruffled Ross’ hair into messy spikes. 

“Eh,” Sips grunted. “Didn’t want to miss out on all this scintillating conversation. So what about me?”

“We’re just discussing the nature of good and evil.” Trott shrugged.

“Jesus, that.” Sips picked up Trott’s mug, and sipped his coffee. “Waste of fucking time. Also Trott, this coffee is terrible. Did you make this?”

“I’ll make some,” Ross mumbled, head still on Sips’ knees. “Trott’s coffee is shit.”

“For fuck’s sake, I do the same things you do,” grumbled Trott in mock annoyance. “I don’t know why it tastes different.” 

“That would be great.” Sips patted his head affectionately, and Ross nuzzled his hand before slowly climbing to his feet. He took the mug, snorting in amusement when Trott flipped him off. 

“What’s with him?” asked Sips in a low voice once Ross was in the kitchen. 

“His little sorcerer friend sold his soul, and now he’s sad.” Trott stretched, feeling his joints pop. He climbed back onto the sofa. Trott let himself lean into Sips just a little. 

“Oh, the kid who was here?”  

“Mmhmm.”

“No good.”

“Nope.” Trott shook his head, brushing the hair back out of his eyes. It was getting long again, and needed a trim.

“What are you going to do?” 

“About the sorcerer? Nothing yet.”

Sips nodded, and yawned. 

“You want me to take Ross today?” he offered. “Sounds like he needs cheering up.”

“Yeah,” Trott agreed. “He needs a distraction, a person he can protect.”

“Sure, I can be that.” Sips folded his hands under his chin, and fluttered his eyelashes. Trott laughed. 

“Very convincing.”

“What can I say, I’m amazing.” 

Trott laughed again, and Ross returned carrying mugs.

“What’s so funny?” He carefully handed coffees to Sips, and Trott.

“Sips, as usual.” Trott sipped at the coffee. It was definitely better, whatever Ross did to it. He closed his eyes, savoring the warmth in his hands. Another thing he liked about living on dry land. Ross settled on the floor, carefully holding his mug as he wedged himself between their legs. Trott smiled at that, and hooked his leg over Ross’ shoulder. 

“This is so much better,” Sips groaned happily. “You’re the best coffee maker in this house, Ross.”

Trott rolled his eyes.

“Blatant favoritism,” he muttered, bouncing his foot against Ross’ chest. 

“It’s because I put the Baileys in it instead of milk,” Ross admitted, wrapping his fingers around Trott’s ankle. “Sips said there wasn’t any point in using unflavored milk if we had Baileys, so…” Sips chuckled, and clinked his mug against Ross’ shoulder. 

“Smith still asleep?” Trott asked, in the comfortable silence as they drank their coffee. 

“Yeah.” Sips leaned forward so Ross could hand over the remote control. The television buzzed, noise Trott easily tuned out. He stared at the chair near the front door, piled with coats. Tucked under his skin, Trott could see the edge of a box. He felt sure that it was Smith’s gift from last night, evidence that he’d gotten something done. Trott wondered if he’d managed to steal something good this time around. 

 

* * *

Nearly noon, Smith was still in bed, and Trott still in his pajamas. He entered the bedroom, softly lit by the diffuse winter light behind the clouds. Smith’s clothes were piled up beside the bed. There was a small painting leaning against the wall, between the nightstand and the door to the bathroom. Trott cocked his head and stared at it for a second, wondering if he stole that last night as well. He smiled at Smith’s tendency to acquire things he found beautiful.

Smith was sprawled out on his stomach, tangled in blankets, and taking up more of the bed than one might imagine possible. Trott shucked his clothes, and climbed into bed so he could lay against Smith’s back.

“Wake up, sunshine,” he murmured, kissing Smith’s exposed shoulder. 

“Sleeping,” Smith grumbled, trying to bury himself in the blankets. But Trott pulled them loose, and slid a chill hand down Smith’s back, raising goosebumps. “Ahhh, stop that!”

Smith rolled over atop Trott, pulling blankets with him to wrap them together. He pressed his lips to Trott’s neck, a lazy, open mouthed kiss. His hands skimmed the lines of Trott’s chest, down his ribs to his hip bones. 

“Don’t you want to tell me all about your night?” Trott whispered in his ear.

“Mmm.” Smith rubbed himself against Trott, warm and pleased with himself. 

“I saw you brought me something.” Trott was amused. He rubbed his fingers through Smith’s hair, down his neck. It made Smith stretch, leaning into the touch.

“You said, whatever looked interesting.” Smith’s voice was rough, still thick with sleep. “There’s some drives, along with the box.”

“I did.” Trott fisted his hand in Smith’s hair, and dragged him into a kiss. “Did you kill anyone?”

“Only for the car.” Smith caught Trott’s lip between his teeth.

“No one in the building?” Trott hooked his fingers in Smith’s boxers, pulling them down with one hand.

“No one that I know of.” Smith wriggled until he could kick his clothes free, and press himself naked against Trott. His skin was hot, and he was heavy, pinning Trott to the bed.

“Good,” Trott murmured, pressing a kiss to Smith’s throat. He smoothed his hand up Smith’s thigh, over the curve of his ass. It made Smith whine softly, and nuzzle closer. 

“Anything good in the box?” Smith asked as he nipped gently at Trott’s ear, down his neck. He pushed a leg between Trott’s, holding himself up on one arm. His other hand followed the dip of Trott’s hip down to his stomach. 

“Haven’t opened it yet.” He scratched his nails down Smith’s back, making him hiss. They ground against each other with a familiar ease. Smith was already hard, his cock rubbing against Trott’s thigh.

It was slow and warm, without the usual frantic edge between them. Hands curled around each other’s cocks, and they matched each other’s strokes. Trott spread his fingers wide, one hand on Smith’s chest over his beating heart. He closed his eyes, feeling Smith bury his face in the crook of his neck. Trott dug his fingers into Smith’s skin just a little harder, nails cutting little crescents into his chest. 

Smith panted into Trott’s neck, listening to the blood pounding in his ears and Trott’s breath. His own breathing hitched as Trott traced the veins under his skin. Smith’s arm trembled slightly, elbow planted close to Trott’s ribs. Their hands knocked against each other, rubbed against stomachs as they tried to press into each other’s skin. Smith bit down on Trott’s shoulder, tightening his hand so that Trott arched beneath him with a loud gasp. His hand moved faster on Smith. Trott twisted his wrist a little so he could swipe his thumb over the head of Smith’s cock, pleased by the way it made him jerk. Breathing hard, they kissed hastily. Smith groaned as he came first. Beneath him Trott moaned, and shuddered into his own orgasm. 

Sated and sticky, they held each other. Trott kissed the corner of Smith’s jaw, the stubble rough against his lips. 

“You always make me glad I came here, instead of anywhere else.” Trott’s voice was husky, and he looked up at Smith with immense fondness. 

Smith’s lips hovered on the edge of a smirk. 

“Though if you make some obscene joke about that right now...” warned Trott, trying not to smile in response.

Smith laughed, and kissed Trott instead, grinning into his muffled complaint as Smith wiped his hand down his chest. 

 

* * *

Ross and Sips walked through the slush lining the sidewalks, eating giant pretzels. They shared a fondness for the random street food of the city. Today it was a pretzel cart on the corner near their building. Ross was still hoping the falafel cart would reappear one day. Ross liked living in this part of the city, close to the river and so full of people. A lot of it was run down, crumbling and old buildings with wrought iron railings. There were few brand new buildings like the one they lived in, but they all shared a similar air of shabbiness.  

“What’s got you so down?” Sips asked, well aware of the truth. But he could pretend pretty well that he didn’t know anything when it suited him. He gnawed on the pretzel, his gloves tucked into a pocket.

“Why do people make such terrible choices?” Ross asked, throwing a bit of pretzel at a crow lurking on a lamp post. Usually he would just ignore them. Birds were never good, in his mind. The way it stared though, Ross thought it must be hungry and there were so few people out today. 

“Depends,” Sips shrugged. “Usually it’s just the easy thing, or fear, or being dumb.”

“Maybe.” Ross chewed on his pretzel. He watched the black bird raise its wings and peck viciously at the bit of pretzel in the snow.  

“I mean, look at me. I could be living a nice, quiet life but here I am hanging out with you guys.”

“Well, not entirely your choice how that turned out.”

“I knew I was making a dumb decision when I got in the car with Smiffy the first time,” Sips chuckled. “But sometimes you can’t resist the bad idea.”

“Even if you know how it has to end?”

“Sure.” Sips licked the butter, and salt from his fingers. “Maybe even especially if it’s going to end badly.”

“So why’d you get in the car, if you knew?” asked Ross curiously. 

“Have you _ seen  _ Smiffy?” 

“That can’t be the only reason.” 

“Most everyone I knew growing up thinks I’m dead already,” said Sips in his serious voice.

Ross watched him as they walked. Sips looked nonchalant, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. They crossed the street, and walked through the park. Not many people were around in the gloomy weather. A long jogger plowed stubbornly through the snow covered paths, breath steaming. A pair of big, black birds zipped past with loud caws and flew into the trees.

“My life is all borrowed time anyway. So why not take some risks, especially if they look good?” He looked sideways at Ross, a smile ghosting across his face. 

“That’s a terrible reason.” Ross thwacked him gently with his tail. They crunched through the fresh snow in the little square, towards the empty fountain. Sips stood on the edge of it, kicking at the ice and snow piled in messy heaps. 

“I made a lot of dumb choices,” Sips admitted. “Do I regret some of them? Sure. Absolutely. But that’s a really human thing, Ross, and there’s no accounting for it. You just do dumb things. Especially when you’re a young guy who thinks he’s got the world by the balls.”

Ross nodded. He looked up at the bare tree branches, the few crows perched in them. He felt sure they were watching, but he didn’t know why. He tossed bits of his pretzel at them, watching them swoop one by by one to the ground with stately flaps of their wings. 

Sips pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his coat pocket, and lit one. 

“I quit smoking for a long time, after I left home.” He examined the cigarette between his fingers. “But I get the feeling cancer is the least of my worries these days.”

Ross felt a little pang, contemplating Sips’ mortality. He couldn’t count how many generations of people had walked through the doors of his church. But this was different. Sips caught his expression.

“Don’t make that face, come on.” Sips waved the cigarette with one hand. “I’m not going to die in the next five minutes.”

“I’ll outlive you,” Ross said, melancholy. He was not enjoying this latest reminder of the differences between him and human beings. 

“Yep,” Sips agreed. “You’ll probably outlive all of us.” He took a drag, and exhaled upwards. The smoke was almost indistinguishable from the frost of his breath. 

“Some things can’t be changed, Ross. Some people will always make the bad decision, no matter what you do.” He patted Ross’ arm. “Too bad I can’t introduce you to my mother, the two of you could mope together about it.”

Ross tilted his head quizzically, and Sips laughed to himself. He flicked the ash away into the fountain, and took another drag. Ross tossed the last bits of his pretzel at the crows. 

“You’d love her. That woman would go to church every day if she didn’t have a family to keep her busy at home.” Sips’ eyes looked at something Ross couldn’t see in the middle distance. “She never could understand why people made shit choices either.”

“You miss her?” 

“I miss her cooking, that’s for sure.”

“What did she cook?” asked Ross, intrigued by this rare glimpse of Sips before he was theirs.

“Boiled potatoes and kielbasa,” reminisced Sips. “Pierogies. Stuffed cabbage. Gingerbread.” The memories of a kitchen that was always busy, always full of food, and family members filled him and Sips felt a wistful pang. It faded like smoke, gone before it could take root.   

Ross hummed, and wondered what a pierogi was. He repeated the word, marveling at the strangeness of it. He didn’t notice Sips watching him sidelong with a thoughtful expression. 

“Come on,” he said decisively, tossing his cigarette into the snow. “Screw the movies. There’s a bookstore on 42nd. I bet they have cookbooks.”

 

* * *

 

 

Trott stood in the doorway of the kitchen, arms folded. Ross was dusty with flour, wearing the red apron Sips gave him for Christmas. It said “King of the Kitchen” in fancy gold script across the chest. The air smelled of bacon and fried onions. A bowl of mashed potatoes sat on the counter next to the stove, and water was boiling. Sips was perched on a kitchen chair, reading the instructions from a cookbook, and swigging from a mostly empty beer bottle.  

“What is Ross making?” Smith asked, stretching to rest his chin on Trott’s head.

“No clue.” Trott shrugged him off, and stepped into the room. He opened the fridge in search of a beer, handing one off to Smith as well. He put a light hand on Ross’ back, watching him work.

“Hey, Trott.” Ross picked up a glass, cutting circles of dough. He lifted his tail, and Trott used it to pop the cap off his beer. He wiped a smudge of flour off Ross’ tail. Everything had flour on it right now though, so it was probably a lost cause. 

“What are you cooking, sunshine?” Trott snagged a piece of bacon from a plate. 

“Sips wanted Polish food.” Ross folded the dough around a lump of potato, and fried onions. With a look of intense concentration, he pressed the edges together with a fork to seal them shut.  

“Why Polish food?” asked Smith. He tried to reach for the book, and Sips slapped his hand away. 

“It’s fucking cold outside and I want potatoes,” Sips said. “Aww, you brought me another beer, Smiffy.” He lifted the bottle out of Smith’s hand with a smirk. 

“Hey!” Smith frowned. At the counter, Ross laughed quietly as he folded the dough circles. He scraped the bits of dough off his fingers with a dishtowel.

“So it says to boil them all a few minutes,” Sips continued reading. “I guess what three or four? They’ll float up, then you pull them out.” Ross nodded, gathering the leftover dough into a lump. Ross dumped the pierogies into the pot to bob around. He reached across the counter to grab another handful of flour. His tail tapped a slow count as the pierogies boiled, and he rolled the dough out again. The marble rolling pin was also a gift from Sips, and Ross liked flattening things with it.  

“Will you turn the other burner on, Trott?” asked Ross. He scraped off a lump of butter into the frying pan as Trott turned the knob. Smith took another beer out of the fridge. The labels were green and gold, nothing he recognized. He smacked the cap off against the edge of the counter, and turned his attention to Ross.

“They’re not done yet, hands off.” Ross menaced Smith with a spatula as he lifted the pierogies out of the pot, and flipped them into the frying pan. Little drops of water popped and spattered in the melting butter. Smith chuckled and pushed in close to Ross, knocking a hip against him. 

“Here, I’ll flip ‘em.” Smith took the spatula, and pushed the pierogies around the pan as they browned. Ross glanced over, and they shared a grin. 

“You just want to eat the first ones,” he laughed. “Don’t let them burn, then.” His tail brushed against Smith affectionately. 

“Yeah Smiffy, don’t burn my dinner,” Sips agreed. “Just until they’re nice and golden.” He folded corner of the page to mark the recipe and set the book on the table.

“Polish food, eh?” Trott raised an eyebrow, turning towards Sips.

“Good stuff,” Sips said nonchalantly. 

“Homesick?” He took the seat nearest Sips at the table. “That’s not like you.” 

“Not at all,” Sips demurred. “Just keeping Ross out of trouble.” They both looked at him, cutting out more dough on the counter. They shared a glance, and Sips raised his eyebrows. Trott nodded, and clinked his bottle against Sips’. 

“Lot of crows outside today,” Ross said as he folded more pierogies.

“Crows?” Smith asked, frowning. “Crows, or ravens?” He glanced over his shoulder at Trott, who raised his eyebrows.

“Big, black, hungry looking?” Ross shrugged. “I don’t know. Fucking birds. Give me that plate, Smith.”

Smith grabbed the empty plate from the counter, and Ross shoveled the pierogies onto it. 

“Probably nothing to do with us,” Trott said. He flicked his hair out of his face. “How long til dinner, Ross?”

“Soon,” Ross said distractedly as he dumped more pierogies into the boiling water.

“Bring the plate, Smiffy.” Sips set his beer down, and pushed the cookbook out of the way. “And grab the sour cream out of the fridge, will ya?” Smith carried over the plate and Sips forked up a pierogi, looking at it with a critical eye before taking a bite. 

“Goddamn,” Sips said around a mouthful. He leaned back in his chair, and ate another pierogi. “Fucking delicious, Ross.” 

“Sips, those were mine!” Smith complained.

Ross glanced over his shoulder, and grinned, pleased with the sight of Sips waving Smith away from the plate he’d claimed and Trott leaning back in his chair with an amused expression. Ross hummed under his breath, and started folding more pierogies. At the table, Smith and Trott bickered over the few pierogies left on the plate, stabbing at each other with forks. Sips got up, and leaned into Ross, one arm around his waist.

“My mother would like you,” he said. “You make a pretty good pierogi for someone who’s never eaten one.”

Ross bumped Sips with his tail, smiling to himself. He dumped another batch into the pot, watching them tumble around in the water.

“I saved you one though.” Sips held up a fork with a pierogi speared on the tines. Ross leaned forward and took a bite. It was warm, soft in the center, full of buttery potato and translucent bits of onion. A little doughy and chewy, but still pretty delicious.  

“I’ll help you make some more, scoot over.” Sips dropped the fork on the counter and grabbed a spatula. Ross turned back to the counter and reached for the rolling pin. Something comforting settled in his stomach this time. The knot there eased.

 

* * *

Dawn reflected off the snow, brightening the entire street. Trott stood on the front steps of their building, looking at the trees spaced evenly along the sidewalk.  

“ _Crows_ ,” he said thoughtfully. Definitely crows, and not ravens. A message then, and not the threat he’d expected to find. They were enormous, waiting in pairs or singly on the branches. Each one looked down at him. Some cawed, a sound that reminded him of gulls. Trott stepped down onto the sidewalk, and looked up at them, hands in his pockets. 

“What have you come to say?” he wondered, voice barely audible. The sound of the city was muffled in the snow, and the early hour. The street stretched empty of cars or people, a rare perfect stillness. Trott didn’t think that was an accident. Witches who could send so many crows could make sure the street was as empty as need be. He was sure there were more crows somewhere, chasing away other birds and other things that might carry tales back to the greenhouse. He could only think of a few witches who kept birds as familiars off the top of his head, and Trott wasn’t sure he was friendly with any of them. 

One of the birds launched itself into the air, wings stretched wide as it flapped to gain a bit of height. It circled him, and Trott pulled one hand out of his coat. He held his arm out, palm up, and waited. The bird fluttered, and settled on his arm. Something dropped into his palm, and he felt the stab of a beak before it pushed away. Cawing, the crow joined the others in the tree. 

Trott examined the gift carefully. A small crow’s egg, speckled blue and brown, rested in his palm. He rolled it back and forth, hearing something rattle inside the shell. Something that was definitely not a yolk or a baby crow. Deliberately, Trott cracked the shell. A ring rolled into his palm, plain silver set with garnets. He rubbed his thumb over it, and whispered. The magic of it flared hot and bright, and Trott closed his fingers over it in surprise. That was definitely not what he’d expected. Magic rings were a dime a dozen in the city, but this one was old and heavy with enchantment. 

“Thoughtful,” he said gravely, inclining his head towards the birds waiting in the trees. It was quite a gift, maybe even an outright declaration of support. He thought hard about it, feeling the ring pressed into his palm. Trott looked up at the birds watching him.

“The court accepts.” He smiled, very slightly.

They eyed him for another moment before they took flight. The crows circled him three times before rising up in a burst of cries and wings, a dark cloud against the pale blue sky.

Trott tucked the magic ring, and the shell fragments into his pocket before heading back up the stairs.

****  
  



End file.
